Spirit in the Sky
by sahdah
Summary: Spirit relives his darkest moments on a fateful morning, until he's guided by the light. Trigger warnings for death and emotional abuse.


Have you ever noticed that moment of silence before the next tick of a clock? The sound as the needle clicks to the next moment in time, but not before a breath of reluctance. Do you ever notice how much of life happens in that millisecond of silence?

Spirit woke up that morning, much the same as any other morning. Opening his eyes, he thought of his daughter, smiled, then rolled over and gave Blair a kiss on the nose. He got up. Stretched, his back cracking with what he absolutely refused to acknowledge as age, not old age mind you, just age. After relieving himself, he dressed in his running gear. By this time Blair was already up, so he went to the kitchen, took his vitamins, drank his water while staring out over the darkened horizon, and contemplated that his life, however riddled with mistakes, had always been a good life.

Long clawed fingers wrapped around his waist and he felt kisses pressed between his shoulder blades. His heart constricted with the knowledge that he was lucky to have found a partner who understood him, but it didn't lessen the guilt he felt at the mess he'd left behind at the age of 18. He had been young, a fool in many ways, and while he'd been a shit partner (Marika never let him forget his worthlessness)- he couldn't bring himself to regret her. For all the times she belittled him, nagged him, brought to light every failure he'd ever committed, even the things outside of his control- _I just don't understand how you never knew_ _ **he**_ _was doing those things to you_ \- he'd do it all over again. No, not the cheating. Instead of slinking away looking for affection, he would have done the right thing. He would have set his limits, held them, and walked away- he was young, stupid and impulsive- he'd made his mistakes, many of them. But- for _her-_ for Maka, he'd gladly go through that pain again…

Deep, amber eyes stared at him. "Hey?" Blair asked, worry evident in her tone.

He blinked. Blinked again. "Yeah?" He laughed awkwardly, trying to hide his shame.

Blair continued looking at him cautiously. "I was asking if you were ready to go?"

He might have caught the way her breasts moved as she adjusted her music on her sculpted arm, he might have blushed, but when he caught the glint of a canine revealed by her smirk, he knew she was doing it on purpose. "Ya," he chuckled, "I'm ready."

Even at five in the morning, the desert air was dry, the coldness of night disappearing in the predawn heat. Still, it was cool enough to run on the pavement before the soles of your shoes start melting.

Blair ran beside him, he heard her sing snippets of her music off key and throaty and that worked for Brittany, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Somewhere in the city his baby angel would be waking up. He imagined she'd probably make Soul his scrambled eggs, wondered if that boy could fathom how lucky he was?

The contact with the pavement shot up his legs; it grounded him to the world, to Death City. Going up the hill, he had to focus on his breath, trying to drive the pain out of his right knee, he has to stay strong even though he isn't Death's only scythe anymore. His baby did that, she'd accomplished that. His heart swelled with pride. Still, his mind repeated, _baby steps get the hill_ as he shortened his stride but increased his pace. Maka had always been hell bent on perfectionism...just like her mama…

Despite his glaring imperfections even at seventeen, it hadn't stopped Marika from seizing her perfect opportunity, turning Stein's failed partner into an actual _death scythe_. She'd befriended him, listened to him in the beginning, and after Stein, well, he'd trusted too quickly. He had given so much of himself before he ever realized she'd given nothing in return, only to realize years later how she'd manipulated him with sex, how stupid he'd been for confusing fucking for affection. And how long they'd gone before it caught up with them.

Her distraught screaming from his bathroom was a memory he'd never be able to forget. The anger and frustration he'd felt from her wavelength. He'd asked what was wrong? _What do you think is wrong?_ she'd yelled. Never having been skilled at reading human minds before meeting her, he had zero guesses until he saw the stick on the counter. _Oh_. He'd reached out; the viewing window had two bars. Picked up the box, even though it was obvious it meant his life had changed.

At the top of the hill he looked out over the horizon, the sun just starting to kiss the vanishing point, the clouds up above burning a vivid pink, starting to tinge gold.

Back then things weren't the way they were now, or rather they didn't go about things the way young people did now. Blair had moved on to singing something about poker faces. They'd now run about a third of their daily route.

These days, he imagined if Maka found herself in a similar situation with Soul- Spirit knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that man would support his daughter in whatever her decision would be. That's why he didn't find himself worrying about her much anymore; if he worried at all, it was for that white haired idiot, but he could see that while his little pumpkin had gotten the best of his ex, she'd also gotten some of his best qualities, too. There wasn't enough air in his lungs to let him sport the stupid grin he'd always get when he thought of his baby girl, but it came even if it was just a hint blown away by the whooshing of his breath.

No, back then, he'd offered his imperfect hand, begrudgingly accepted by his bitter partner. Spirit wasn't completely ignorant; she'd always been more ambitious than him. He had felt her trepidation from her side of the bond; she never wanted the pregnancy, then it was the fetus, and then it was Maka. He, foolishly, thought that this baby would bond them even closer. Maka became a light for him, a joy, a driving force- something to live for.

His heart felt odd in his chest, too tight, too constricted.

Do you ever have the sense that you're watching an accident unfold right before your eyes? Everything looks okay until it isn't. And then, it's too late, you forgot to look before you turned or you never changed your tires before that freak ice storm, whatever the choices they were wrong and there's nothing that can be done. It's too late.

It was three months after Maka's birth that he realized something was off. His offers to help with his baby were brushed off; he wasn't breastfeeding, so how did he expect to feed her? He offered to change diapers- had he ever changed diapers before? He could learn; she didn't trust him. He had respected doctors orders and was patient even after eight weeks had passed. Afterwards, any advance he made to comfort or to show affection was met with an icy wall.

The sky was turning blue, the heat was rising, sweat beaded on his forehead.

He loathed what happened next. If he hadn't risen to the bait, if he hadn't taken her feelings personally, if he had insisted he care for Maka that evening, then maybe he wouldn't have started down his shit hole.

The knee pain flared up, the worn cartilage making the bones ache with every step, but he welcomed the pain. Better the pain of the knee than the pain in his heart. But today was a day shaping to be a bad mental trip.

There was only so much berating a person could withstand before they started agreeing with the shit version of themselves others saw. Stein switched his toes. Marika his identity. Spirit stood by and let it happen.

No one had told him to go to Chupacabra's. No one had forced the drinks down his throat. No one had said he had to accept the flirtatious advances of the woman behind the counter, but he did. He'd relished the attention, the false feeling of affection, the stroke to his badly bruised ego. Hours later, he had woken feeling dirty, regretting his stupidity, the shame he felt; he'd given in and it felt like some part of him died.

Her soul perception had told her everything she needed to know. It was downhill from there. She had the satisfaction of knowing how worthless he really was, shit partner, shit husband, shit father.

At nineteen, he had been full of passive aggression, depressive mood swings hidden with gleeful vengeance, and a recklessness to prove his wife right- not wrong. Instead of seeing a therapist, he saw the woman from the bar. Instead of confronting the shit festering in his soul, he became more apathetic to his wife's resentment. Leaving her alone with Maka had been a mistake, but being around Maka highlighted every mistake he was too childish to admit to. He was a man, goddamnit- a very blind, very ignorant man child. Only later did he begin to realise what he was doing to himself was damaging his soul and his child's.

Had he come to terms with the shit he was doing, the reasons he was doing it, maybe he would've been there to defend his actions- maybe his daughter would have understood. Understood that some relationships are broken from the start. Understood that love is worth fighting for but sometimes love wasn't there to begin with. Understood that she wasn't bound to the failures of her parents. That her father wasn't a paradigm for all men… But he had, in many ways abandoned her, left her alone with his bitter partner. And, Spirit knew he only had himself to blame.

The watch on his wrist beeped, two thirds of the way through.

There was ever present anger; he had loved Marika, or thought he did. It was confusing, more or less anymore. He'd always enjoyed flirting, attention whore that he was. But he had done his best to be discrete with, well, with his partners. That was the one thing his ex had driven home to Maka- all men cheat-and he had let her. He never once spoke up and said that there are good men out there because he wasn't one, she was always right and who was he to say differently? Spirit had stood by and made a mess of his life.

The air in his lungs hurt; his chest wouldn't open enough to let him catch his breath. He only had himself to blame.

Coming home to that note had been one of the worst moments of his life. His marriage was a sham long before it had ever started, but he couldn't forgive her for abandoning Maka.

 _I can't do this anymore, I never asked to be a mother. Sign the papers or don't- I'm done, you raise her._

Every time her parting words came to mind, he'd see red. The note was burned immediately when his heart rate returned to something akin to normal. He'd stood by, accepting his daughter's feelings- his willing penance for his long list of sins. Somehow finding the strength to remain while remorse clawed at his soul. After thirteen years, he'd come face to face with the responsibility he'd run from. He was still running.

Maka taught him to validate feelings, had shown him that he had been a coward hiding behind the gross misogyny he'd been taught his whole life to accept as normal. Soul taught him the value of accepting help from others. And, gradually, Blair taught him that he was a person worth loving. Growth was hard, acceptance of his broken self, infinitely harder.

Learning to set boundaries, keep them, and not cross them could've broken him, but Maka taught him courage. Each day began anew, a chance to move forward and do better, _be better-_ at the least better than yesterday.

At the park, they tried to catch their breath. Blair going through stretches. He couldn't catch his breath, his chest felt still too tight. His heart unsteady. Could he really be this out of shape?

They'd walked back to their apartment hand in hand. Blair going on about her plans for the day, he had hopped in the shower. Out of the shower, he noticed the stiffness in his shoulder and, gradually, the pain in his head.

Blair served them breakfast; he never knew he liked burnt halibut until they'd met. "Spirit," she asked, looking at him concerned. "Are you okay?"

The pain in his head was growing. Shaking it made it worse. _Papa, what happens to souls when we die?_

His hand came up to his cheek, was he crying? Had he ever experienced pain this profound? "I." He could throw up. "Don't."

Maka's face came to mind. Golden hair and his eyes looking back at him. Did his legs give out, why was he on the floor?

Blair's face suddenly there, hand twisted in his tie and shirt, she'd wrinkle it. Had he tried to swat her hand away. It felt like a strange dream. Echoes of _they're coming, hang on_ filled his mind, but he was pushing Maka on a swing or maybe he was standing in front of it. Her face was red, she was upset. His eyes were on her, but the man who stood behind her was fawning over a woman with a younger child.

"Sir," the voice cut through his thoughts, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

He felt uncomfortable, tied to a table that was moving. A hand waving fingers in front of his face. "Two," he said, the number of golden twin tails.

He walked behind her. She was in a favorite dress and playing hide and go seek as she followed a man with hands wrapped around two ladies. The pain in his head- he wanted the pain to stop.

 _Do you ever wonder what happens to the souls you digest, Papa?_

What a strange question to be asked.

The pain was strange; growing, but the more it grew, the more Maka filled the void. He'd felt so tired. The tension in his chest would not ease, but he could no longer feel the pain in the knee.

It began with Maka, her nose scrunched over lunch the other day telling him how Soul burned the curry and had the audacity to lie about it. That boy should know better. "I'm scared to tell him I love him, Papa," she'd said.

"Don't be," he responded.

"Why not?"

"He loves you more than he loves himself." He'd known she'd want to know how he could possibly know this, his truth that was more clear to everyone around her than it could be for her. Spirit only had himself to blame, but he knew, because Soul wore the look he'd worn most of his life.

"How could you know that?" she'd asked her mutilated napkin.

"I just do, angel." It wasn't hard to recognize an expression he was intimately aware of.

His hand was empty but he felt a pressure. Strange, so strange.

With each tick of a second hand he saw her face in reverse. Like the run this morning but the colors were more vivid. She was ten. She was five walking away from him going up the stairs of the school; she didn't look back, her face set with determination. She was howling in the kitchen; something she attempted to create didn't go right. "Don't give up Maka, you can do anything you set your mind to." His mother always told him that; his father scoffed but he believed his mama. She was three, talking so fast her words were a blur, _she_ was a blur jumping off the bed, running in circles around the house. Gripping his neck so tight while he read her a book. Meaty legs that kicked him in the night. She was two and refused to use the potty. She was one and crying because she burned her finger on the candle of her cake. She was 10 months and taking her first step, a look of determination burning in her eyes. She was six months angry on her belly before she started to crawl. She was three months cooing at him with a vice like grip on his finger. She was opening her eyes for the first time and he was watching her chest rise and fall, scared to death of screwing this up.

"Papa." Somewhere she was crying and out of reach. He was in a darkness and for the first time he felt fear. He didn't want to leave her behind. _Maka!_ The sound was swallowed up. It was worse than the dreams where he couldn't run, locked up in blade form without a meister. MAKA! The darkness hovered present, neither allowing him to come or go.

 _I LOVE YOU!_ He screamed it with all his might; he was scared. He was so scared. He wasn't brave enough to face this. _I'm so sorry,_ he whispered.

 _I know._

His eyes zeroed in on a bright spec of blue. A sound soul...

Time sped up. He watched his baby come into the light, heard her first piercing cry, saw her breathing, sleeping, waking, crying, laughing, talking, walking, dreaming, laughing, growing. She was older now, dressed in white. His heart clenched seeing Soul standing next to her; he wanted to scream _please protect her,_ but he didn't. He trusted that they would protect one another. She changed and grew before his eyes. Soul handed her a small bundle. The baby grew. Another joined their family. He was watching them grow, blonde haired, white haired, green green eyes. They lived full lives, they grew old.

The second hand moved.

Spirit Albarn passed. Maka Albarn watched her father's soul depart. It happened on a day like any other. And just like that, he was gone.

 _a/n: Life is precious and sometimes it gets taken too soon. Thank you professor-maka for your beta magic and macabre mermaid for your support._


End file.
